


i'm building a body (I'm building a new house)

by lostinthefire



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Coming Out, Dancing, Gen, Gender Identity, Happy Ending, Identity Issues, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Non-Binary Bucky, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, non-binary Natasha, transvengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/pseuds/lostinthefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky isn't comfortable in his own skin and Natasha realizes this.  They go on a journey together to help Bucky learn how to be comfortable with himself and who he, or they rather, are now that they have the chance to claim their own identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm building a body (I'm building a new house)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zethsaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zethsaire/gifts).



> I was so, so excited when I got my prompt that i glee-ed all over the place. Seriously, it made me so happy. I've been looking for an excuse to write non-binary Bucky for ages and non-binary Natasha fit right in. 
> 
> A note on pronouns: I use 'he' and 'she' in terms of Bucky and Nat for as long as Bucky uses them. When he switches over to 'they' so does the narrative.
> 
>  **Note:** Has been cleaned up and betaed.

There's something nervous about the way Bucky carries himself, uncertainty and maybe a little bit of fear in every flicker of motion. He moves with precision and yet he never seems to know where he’s going. He's awkward in his body, in what his body has become.

It's obvious and he knows it, though he never expects it to change. It is simply the way things are, just another aspect of the life he is slowly regaining. 

But Natalia is full of surprises and she has one more for him the day she arrives at the apartment (it’s not his apartment, probably never will be, but it’s at least growing to represent a safe space).  
Steve isn't there when she arrives, so it's merely the two of them, a fact that leaves him unsure for very different reasons. They don't spend a lot of time alone together and he had preferred it that way. There are ghosts in his head (so many ghosts, so little time), of little girls with blood on their hands, that leave him feeling queasy. He tries to push it away as she sets about making herself comfortable.

He skitters around her, vanishing into the kitchen to put on coffee instead of remaining in the same room. He needs time to adjust to her presence there, to accommodate to the way she takes up space that usually is only occupied by himself, Steve, or not at all.

She knocks on the kitchen wall before poking her head inside. "Do you have coffee?" she questions, a small, gentle smile on her face. It's not a look he often expects to see from her but he's grateful for it now.

"Yeah. Do you want any?"

She nods, stepping inside all the way. Even though she takes up less space than either he or Steve, she feels infinitely bigger sometimes. She's been careful enough to not block the exit into the rest of the apartment, which he’s aware is entirely intentional. He’s still grateful for it.

“There’s so much tension in the way you move. Did you know that?” She says it like it’s a casual observation. He knows her though, knows how meticulous she is, and is very much aware that if she’s saying something, it’s likely true. It takes him a moment to actually say anything in response, trying to sort out her motivations for pointing it out and then finally giving in and speaking. “Is there?”

“Yes, I can guess why. I’m not saying it’s a fault.” He can sense a ‘but’ in that statement and waits for her to continue. ”But there are different ways to carry yourself, to move against the rest of the world.”

He’s silent, just the noises of coffee being prepared, while he thinks about the statement. “I don’t know any other way to move.” It sounds much more like a confessions than he intended.

The truth is, while he’s very aware of how he moves, he’s not nearly as aware of how it comes off. There’s a distance between his body and his awareness of it. Being too physically aware brings on a myriad of pains, of memories and the feeling that no matter where he is, someone is touching him. He knows how to move in regards to not damaging anything but beyond that, things get hazy

“I know,” she tells him, her voice calm and easy. “But if you want, I can help. At least I can try. You don’t have to exist this way if you don’t want you. I can help you come into yourself.”

Again, he finds himself drawing a blank in terms of what should be said. A part of him wants to agree, to jump at the chance to learn a different way of being and yet there’s so much of him saying this was a bad plan. It’s going to end in tears, or worse, bloodshed.

"It doesn't feel like yours, right?” she prompts, her head tilted slightly. “Your body doesn’t feel like something you can control the way you want to. It feels like there’s something else pushing it.”

He nods, the actions slow and uncertain, as if admitting to this will turn out to be a bad plan. In all truth, he doesn't want to think about it, about who his body belongs to, about what he can and can't do in it. He knows who his body belonged to. Knows it was not his for so, so long, but to hell if he knows who owns it now.

It certainly doesn't feel like him.

The way she’s watching him, her eyes steady and fixed but not meeting his own gaze, makes him feel like she's reading him like a book. Maybe his expression betrays his discomfort but he was never trained in lying. Even now he’s not entirely sure how to suppress the motion and put on a mask.  
Lying was never something he was supposed to have the capability of doing.

"Let me help you," she says, her voice gentle and almost coaxing. "I know a few things that might help."

And this is how Bucky starts taking dance lessons. 

~

They start in the next few days and meet twice a week. However, the fourth meeting Bucky realized the entire thing might actually be a cover.

Yes, the dancing has a purpose in all this, he can see that, but he’s also aware that Natalia is doing everything with a potentially bigger end game that he’s not entirely aware of.

They both know he’s likely to follow her cues in conversation and she uses that to steer it where she wants things to go. She tells him about herself and invites him to talk about who he is becoming. It feels strange, this light, easy talk, but he does it anyway and it becomes easier with practice. 

It's the seventh lesson that changes everything—or maybe it changes nothing, but lets him see with new clarity what has always been in front of him.

"I have nothing against heels," she says, picking up a conversation on the practicality of shoes as weapons they had been having before they started practice that day. “But so many people code it as female. There are days I don’t want that. Days where it really gets under my skin and makes me sick. I don’t want them looking at me as just another woman. There’s nothing wrong with it, but at times it gets exhausting to be seen as something you’re not"

“‘Coded as?’" He questions carefully, unsure if he's allowed to ask questions on the topic or if this is just her venting a little. 

"I’m not strictly female," she explains. "Granted, I'm not strictly male either. I don't identify as either, though sometimes I lean one way or the other. For me, neither of them fit the right way. I’ll let people think one way or the other, but it’s not real. It’s not who I am."

Bucky blinks.

Natalia smiles. "You didn't know that could happen, did you?"

Bucky blinks again.

"I'll get you some reading material. You might find it interesting."

He's not sure he will, but it would be a lie to say that he didn't have something new to think about. 

He didn't realize how much it would consume his mind after the first time he cracks open the references she offers him.

Oh, how it does.

He finds himself pouring over the recommendations of books and websites she offers, finding the information a little overwhelming at first, but then, over a period of time, strangely comforting.  
He's not sure how he feels about the whole thing, if it's something he relates to in any way or even if he’s even allowed to relate to it. However, in regards to Natalia, it doesn’t matter. She (they, he has to get used to that) were who they were and that wasn’t going to change.

It’s just when it comes to him that things get complicated. 

Sometimes he’ll find himself thinking about all this in relation to himself, and then a wall of anxiety slams up against his thoughts, fear and guilt right behind it There’s no way he gets this, no way his mind will allow him to consider it.

He's not allowed. He's not allowed. He is not allowed.

~

It's like they're a mind reader, though it's a hell of a lot more likely that he just broadcasts his emotions in a way that’s easy for someone like them to read.

"What’s been on your mind?" they ask him one day as the two of them dance careful steps around each other. Dancing had turned to sparring has turned to dancing again. They move against each other with equal grace and equal power and what they’re doing could turn into a fight again easily if they so choose.

He takes a few steps to the right, then looks at her in confusion. “Nothing, why?”

“You’ve been distracted.” She follows him, getting close but not close enough to infringe on his space.

“It’s nothing,” he assures her, waving a hand. It’s a lie, but he’s hardly ready to admit that there’s anything to be thought about, much less thought upon so much that it’s a distraction.

“I think it’s something,” they tell him, taking a step back. “I think that it’s something and you should consider talking about it because it’s weighing you down. I can listen if you want, or you can talk to Steve, but you should talk to someone.”

"It doesn't matter," he mutters, then moves to strike at her, hoping that they can leave it be for now. He's not ready for this conversation. T, the shaking in his hands when he throws a punch proves that in spades.

~

Whether they meant to or not (they almost certainly do), Natalia gets under his skin. They slipped their thoughts, their questions, into his head and he can't stop thinking about it. It makes his hands curl into fists and a whole new anxiety build up in his chest. 

He doesn't want to think about it.

He can't think about it.  
But he is. He fucking well is and it's leaving him queasy.

He doesn't see them for lessons the next week and blows them off when they offer to reschedule. He doesn't want the questions. Or maybe he doesn't want the reason to think about all of this shoved in his face. Either way he doesn't want to see them, not for a while.

But it's not Natalia who approaches him about the subject. It seems Sam has taken up the cause as well. 

(Bucky calls it a cause, maybe burden is a better word.)

They sit together in the apartment, playing a game of chess. Sam is currently losing, though not too badly. They do this every now and then: play some stupid game and just relax around each other, Sam trying not to wear his therapist hat, and Bucky trying not to give him a reason to put it on.

But Sam seems to have it on no matter what Bucky does today. It's not unexpected, but it makes him acutely aware of what he's doing and saying at any given moment.

"Nat says you might be avoiding her?" Sam leans back, taking a sip of the coffee Bucky made. He’s gotten great at coffee, it’s one of the few things he can make confidently. Sam’s not got a hard stare or anything, more like an easy gaze, but it still makes Bucky tense up.

Sam clearly realizes what he’s doing and averts his eyes, choosing to focus on the chess board between them instead.

"I'm not," Bucky starts, words feeling clunky and odd in his throat. “I’m just… Not in the mood." It's a half-assed excuse but it's all he has to explain his avoidance.

"Uh-huh. Come on, man. You've got to do better than that."

He swallows hard, feeling the words tangle in his throat, and he wonders if he can even manage to come up with a good lie. He’s damn sure he can’t tell Sam what’s actually going on. That’s not even on the table.

Yet he tries. He tries because it’s Sam, and Sam is safe, right? Sam is the guy who’ll listen to anything, who you can trust with your secrets if you’re brave enough to tell them.

"I... They were talking to me," he starts, fumbling with the language and unsure if he's going to even make sense as the words trickle from his mouth, slow and uneven but coming along all the same. "About some stuff. It's just--complicated, and I'm not sure what I'm doing with it. That's all."

Sam nods slowly, tapping the edge of his mug with one finger. “So, when you’ve been avoiding Nat, it’s been because of something she said.”

He wonders if Natalia has talked to Sam the things they’ve discussed with him. Sam hadn’t even blinked when Bucky used the ‘them’ pronoun, yet Sam still used ‘she.’ Although he doesn’t want to out Natalia unintentionally, he’s not really sure how else to go about finding out what Sam knows.

“Does Natalia ever talk to you, about…about herself? About how she feels as…as a person?”

“They’re working on it,” Sam says, and it’s like a gift, the switch in pronouns. It saves Bucky having to ask the question properly. Sam is a smart enough person to know what he is getting at. There’s no doubt in Bucky’s mind it was on purpose.

“Sounds like they really did a number on you,” Sam says, sounding fond as he talks about Natalia.  
“Maybe you’ve got some thinking to do?”

Bucky grows quiet, curling in on himself a little bit and looking at his feet. He doesn't want to say anything, just sit there and pretend he didn't fall into this stupid trap of a conversation. But it’s Sam, he tells himself. It's Sam, and if anyone can help him sort this shit out, it would be Sam.

"Yeah," he says, his voice soft. "There might be some things to think about."

Sam smiles, wide and seemingly happy about his response. "You'll get there," Sam assures Bucky. "You'll figure this out. You got all the time in the world."

Bucky doesn't know what to say, so he just nods again, swallowing hard and moving his knight.  
It doesn't come up again that day.

~

No one says anything about it for a while, long enough that Bucky thinks everyone has decided to just leave the subject alone. He's torn between being grateful and wishing someone would talk to him. There are too many thoughts in his head that need sorting out, and he’s having a hell of a time figuring them out on his own.

Gender was a dizzying concept for him, one that made his head ache and hands twitch with anxiety. It had never been something he thought he had a choice in, though he would have hardly had a choice in the matter until recently. After he fell, no one had considered him a person. They’d barely considered him an animal. He was a tool, and tools did not get genders. The got used.

The idea of crafting how people perceived you, of presenting yourself in the way you want to be seen instead of the way how you were born and raised—it strikes him deep in his bones. He wants it. He wants to grab the idea with both hands and hold on as tight as he can.

He doesn't feel like he gets to, though. He doesn't feel he has the right.

Natalia can do it. They've earned the ability to be who they are and be as truthful and honest with themself as they’re willing to be It's bold and admirable and the twisting in Bucky’s stomach tells him he wants to be like them, wants to be that brave.

But bravery is hard and he’s not sure he has the energy to do anything close to what they do, even if all that would be is living an honest life.

And he keeps looking at the ways people move, the way clothes fit around them, the way a certain bit of makeup settles on a person’s face, and he feels wrong for it, dirty and stupid and corrupted.

He is not allowed. 

Fuck, does he wants to talk about it. He's aching to say something to someone, he just—can't. The words catch in his throat, tangle up in his teeth and threaten to choke him with their weight every time he tries.

It doesn't matter that he knows that Natalia, if no one else, will be supportive. He knows this as he knows anything, but he feels physically incapable of saying anything about all of this, no matter how much it festers in his brain, no matter that it has started to consume him.

God only knows what he's going to do if he gets the chance to say something, if he can even articulate what's going through his head, but he wants to try, to relieve himself of the words tying themselves around his neck and holding him down and if nothing else, get it out and in the open so he can be ridiculed, shot down, or just outright rejected.

Because faith is hard, faith is exhausting. Faith is something he was never trained in. But the people he is around now deserve his faith, his trust, and his belief in them. It’s difficult to remember that they might support for him, not reject him.

He really does want to believe, though, wants to believe in the possibility of support, the chance that they won't judge. He knows it's Sam and Natalia and Steve, and they care about him, but this? This feels like a crime, a dirty act that will damn him from here on out just for thinking of it. He doesn't know how he'll get through it, how anyone will be able to look at him again and see the person they thought they were getting to know.

When he looks at himself amidst everything else, he feels like this is just one more horrible act he's committed, and this time, there’s little chance of forgiveness.

~

Natalia brings it up again.  
They're sitting together after practice, something they do more now that he’s more comfortable around them, even though some of the things they stir up in his head get complicated. They’re grinning at him and taking a swig from a water bottle before offering it out to him. As he drinks, they begin speaking.

"You know," they start, "I always knew I didn't identify as female. It was pushed on me, but it wasn't what I was. I looked at the whole thing as just another disguise, an alias that I could whip out whenever I needed it.

"That's how I tried a lot of things, actually. I knew I was queer, I just didn't know what flavor. So I tried a lot of stuff in my spare time. Trial and error is the best teacher sometimes."

He listens, nodding slowly and swallowing down what they say. In a way, it strikes him as strange to think that there was a time where they didn't know who they were. To him, it feels like they know exactly who they are at all times, even if who they are is a lie.

But he remembers where they came from, what was done to them, and it doesn't feel as odd. In a soft and almost quiet way, it makes him feel like maybe he could earn the right to do this, to explore who he may be.

"I don't know what I am," he states quietly, tasting the words on his tongue and seeing how they feel. It's not riling up the anxiety yet but he knows it won’t be long. He can't stay on the topic for long without anxiety and fear kicking in and making him shut down.

"I--I don't feel like what I am now is right. Everything about me, it… It reads one way to people, but I don't know if that's the way I am." He's choosing his words carefully, unsure if saying things outright won't leave him running. It's like walking through a minefield, waiting to fuck up.

They reach over, resting a hand on his knee, an almost gentle expression on their face. "Do you want to try and see if we can find something that fits you better? Something that feels more like you?"

"I don't…" He feels his throat begin to close up, the anxiety coming in waves, crashing against his brain and trying to drown him. "I don't—"

"Okay," they say, voice soft and laced with calm. 

"How about this: I'll come over in a few days, and we'll talk about it then."

He doesn't know what to say. There’s a hard lump settled deep in his throat. He wants to say so much, but all the words refuse to cooperate.

"Let's do that," she says. "I'll come over and we can talk."

He nods, head heavy with the idea but hoping that maybe he can manage to get himself together enough to actually say something to them in the time he has between now and then.

There's not a whole lot of hope in his heart but he can at least pretend.

It's not much but it's all he has right now.  
~  
Natalia shows up a few days later as promised, take-out in one hand and another bag resting on their shoulder. He looks a little surprised: no one hand mentioned food, but he's not going to complain. Both he and Steve have been meaning to do the grocery shopping, but it keeps falling by the wayside, so there’s not much in the apartment.

There are hellos and even hugs before he's helping them set stuff down and both of them are settled in the living room with Mexican food and The Twilight Zone on low in the background.

"How're you feeling?" they question, setting the food down and watching him with a careful eye. It feels like they’re waiting for him to crack, and he doesn't entirely blame them.

"I'm…. Not sure," he admits, the words feeling awkward in his mouth. "Like I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

They smile, not unkindly. "It's okay. You’ve been doing everything you need to do. There's no way to mess this up. You're fine."  
He looks dubious. "I'm sure there's a way to mess this up." 

They shake their head. "There are things you probably shouldn’t do, but coming to terms with this stuff? It's a process, and it's not one that you can really predict. Everyone does things their own way. You're doing things the way you need to and that's okay."

It doesn't help, not exactly, but it does give him a little boost in energy and hope. "Okay."

They eat for a few minutes, silence blooming between them and he feels the elephant in the room looming right over him. He needs to talk, but he literally has no idea how to begin. It's all a jumble of noise in his head and the words don't feel like they can be sussed out.

But he knows he can't just sit there and waste their time, so he closes his eyes and just talks.

"I don't…I don't want to be hard," he states. "I don't want to be what they made me. Most days, I...I feel like I'm ready to break something, like my existing is going to break someone and I don't want that. I want....I want soft edges. I want lightness. I want to feel like I can hold something and not break it.”

He pauses for a moment, watching them for a reaction. When they gesture for him to go on, he nods and continues.

"Everything about me, it reads....Sharp and rough. I don't want that. I mean, sometimes I might, sometimes being sharp is the only way I feel safe but I don't want it all the time. I just...don't know what I do want. Or no, I do, I just don't know how to get it. I don't know what soft edges are to me, other than it’s what I'm not."

Fuck, he feels like an idiot. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach is growing heavier and heavier by the second and he's dead sure he's fucked this up somehow. He feels like there's no way he's explaining himself right, and even if he is, it's not what they've been trying to get him to say and everything feels stupid and wrong in his head.  
Like hell he could do this. Like hell he deserves to do this.

The emotions must have been flashing across his face because they're reaching out to him, touching his hand carefully with one of their own. "Hey," they coax, "you’re doing okay, it’s all right. You’re talking about it, and that's what matters."

"It doesn't feel okay. None of this feels okay. I'm not made for this. I shouldn't be wanting this. I'm not allowed to want it." He looks at them, expression anxious and tired and a little bit scared. "I'm not allowed."

"You are now," they tell him. "You're allowed to do whatever the fuck you want, and if that means being soft, then you deserve to be soft. We'll figure everything else out later, but if you want that, then you’re going to get it.”

Words fail him, a thing that he should really be used to, yet he keeps being surprised when he reaches for them and they slip through his fingers.

"Okay," he says, voice soft and uncertain. "Okay."

"Good." They move, careful in their gestures, and press a light kiss to his temple. "We'll figure this out, you'll see. You'll be happy you started this.”

~

After that, everything blurs at the edges. Natalia has him practice and test out little things, pronouns mostly, testing the ones he likes, besides, well, ‘he’. None of the standard non-binary pronouns really suit him, and while 'they' isn't bad, he feels like it's somehow encroaching on Natalia to start using the pronoun that they feel is theirs.

They also ruled out 'it' on the first day of talking on the matter. Natalia said no outright and Bucky knows it didn't suit him but he felt like it should have, felt that it was what he deserved.

"You're more than a thing," they tell him. "You deserve more than that. We'll find something that works, or you can just use ‘they,’ I don't care. But not 'it'."

He nods, not able to agree beyond that but hoping it would be satisfactory for now.

They get together when Steve is out with Sam or dealing with the press. Really, any time Steve isn't there is when they decide to work on the whole matter. Bucky is grateful, because like hell is he ready to talk about this with Steve. The idea makes his stomach churn, his belly flip like an acrobat. If he does bring this up to Steve, it's going to be a while yet.

After a time, Natalia starts bringing clothes over in his size. Mostly he finds himself partial to skirts, especially longer ones that he can wear with his usual hoodie or long sleeved shirt. He feels comfortable in them and he likes the way that the fabric moves with his body. 

There's still the ever present feeling of 'You dirty thing, you don't get this, you're filthydirtywrong,' but Natalia does their best to chase it away and he almost feels like he might be able to do this.

It's not an easy thing, to hack his brain and override the anxiety and the self-loathing that piles up after their visits, but he finds himself wanting to do it more, to fight the thoughts and overwhelm them with the positive feelings he gets when they are together.

~

Bucky is almost comfortable with themself. It's a strange feeling, though not one they are adverse to.  
'They' becomes the pronoun of choice, mostly because the desire to shed the 'he' pronoun grows more and more intense as they figure out what fits them.

It's not that the dark thoughts have faded either, they still rise up in their head, pulling them down into pits that they're not sure they can get out of, but they let Natalia help pull them out again and it gets easier.

They've not really talked to anyone besides Natalia on the subject of gender. Sam touched on the subject once, but that doesn't really count, and they've not brought it up to Steve at all. It's a secret, one they keep close but one they're also itching to share, even if it terrifies them a little bit.  
One night, while Steve and Sam are out, the two of them sit in the living room, watching TV and laughing at ridiculous shows. It's a comfortable evening, one where Bucky's head is behaving and Natalia is in good spirits. It's nice and easy and they weren't expecting it to go any other way.  
But Natalia is always a surprise and when they catch each other's eyes for a moment, they're tilting their head. "So," Natalia starts. "Are you ever going to talk to Steve?"

Bucky doesn't say anything, though their hands curl a little and they almost recoils at the words. 

"I don't...." Bucky’s words freeze up, going jagged and awkward in their mouth. "I don't know that he would want to know." It’s more like 'I don't know if he'd still care about me if he knew.' Bucky's brain is good at sinking its teeth in right where it's going to hurt the most. 

"He will," Natalia says gently. "I know that for a fact. He's not going to change his mind once he knows you better. He loves you. Letting him in, showing him parts of yourself he’s not seen before, isn’t going to drive him away. It’s going to pull him closer."

Bucky doesn't say anything for a long moment, just sits there and watches the window by Natalia's head. 

"I'm already not the person he had before. I don't want to reinforce that even more."

"Does he care about you now?" 

They shrug. "Yeah."

"Then I think he's still going to care. Frankly, I doubt it matters who you are, he's happy with who you are now and that you're still with him."

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs again as they pick up their coffee from the table. Mostly they need to do something with their hands. "I'll tell him," they say after that. "I'm just not sure when."

"There's no rush. It'll happen when it happens. I just wanted to know if you'd thought about it at all."

They bark out a laugh. "Yeah, I've thought about it." They think about frequently, an idea that comes in the night when they can’t sleep or when their mind is being idle. They think about telling him and all the ways it could go. Mostly it turns into something that crashes and burns, a horrible encounter that leaves them feeling sick, but on occasion, it's not as bad. 

Every now and then the idea of acceptance crosses their mind and it leaves them wanting to try, to see if maybe they could get that from him.

But bravery is hard to come by, and they usually end up pushing it aside once the daydreaming ends.

Even though they know it would be safer to be quiet, to keep their mouth shut and pretend things are the way they seem, they can't help but come back to the idea of speaking the truth. It leaves them with clammy skin and a shake in their hands but it's still something that comes to mind nonetheless.

Natalia says they'll be there when Bucky tells him, if they want. It feels silly to agree but they nod and thank the other because it's the least they can do. Whether that's how it goes down or not remains to be seen, but it’s nice to know they have backup if they need it.

For the rest of the night, their mind comes back to the idea, playing with the wording and speculating on Steve's reaction. Even after Natalia leaves and Steve comes home, it sits in their brain, eating at their concentration

Steve notices that they seem to be distracted, but doesn't remark too much. There's a moment where he asks if they're okay and Bucky assures him with a small smile that they're fine. It doesn't come up again after that and eventually they fall into the old pattern of siting back with Steve, watching the Twilight Zone and dozing on the couch.

~

Sam comes by.

Bucky knows Sam is aware of most of what’s going on with them. Bucky doesn't mind though, because if Sam is anything, he's accepting, and Bucky has enough faith in him to know that Sam won't say anything if he doesn't think it’s okay.

But Sam doesn't care, which is obvious by the way he accepts the knee length skirt Bucky's wearing. Steve and Natalia are at an event that Tony roped them into, and Sam had offered to come by and see how Bucky was doing. It had been a while since the two of them had seen each other alone.

"You look great," he says, offering Bucky a smile. "That color works for you."

Bucky nods, not sure what else to say after that. Accepting compliments isn’t something they’re graceful at, and while they appreciate it, they have no idea how to respond.

Sam doesn't let the silence ripen between them, he just goes to the kitchen, gets a Coke, and settles on the couch. "Steve texted and said he'd be gone for a while," Sam says, "and that we should probably get take-out if we’re hungry."

Bucky nods. The four of them were supposed to get dinner after Stark’s event ends, but it looks less likely now.

"I'm thinking Indian," Sam continues. "Naan sounds awesome right now."

Bucky finds an easy smile sliding onto their face. "Yeah, that works. I'm fine with anything."

Sam nods, looking pretty content himself. "Sweet, we can make this work then."

Bucky grabs another Coke and joins him, curling onto the corner of the couch and popping the tab. Taking a long drink, the carbonation and sweetness almost burning their throat a little, they watches Sam in an almost lazy manner. 

They talk back and forth and Bucky feels at ease the entire time. Sam is good at that, at helping them set their worries aside, even when he's not directly trying to get them to do so. Bucky knows they can be themself around Sam, that there's probably nothing that's going to startle him, and if there is, Sam will take it in stride and be kind about it.

"So," Sam says. "You're gonna talk to Steve?"

Bucky shrugs and there's a little tension in their shoulders but not much. "I'm thinking about it. It's kind of a...process?" They feel like that's not the right word but it's the closest they have.

"Yeah," Sam nods. "I get it. You gotta build yourself up before you can say anything."

Bucky nods. "Yeah. I'm going to, I am, I just have to...do it."

Sam laughs a little. "You can do it, we've got your back. Though you probably won't need us."

"I know."

"You planning on telling the rest of the team?"

Bucky shakes his head. "No, no. I...No. I know Steve will be okay but I...I don't know if I can do it to any of the others. I don't know them well enough, I don't…"

"You don't trust them."

"Not really."

Sam smiles a little. "Yeah, I get that. But you've gotta learn to have a little faith in people. It's hard, I know that, but it's worth trying."

Bucky grazes their teeth over their lower lip as they consider that. "I don't think I'm there yet."

"That's okay. You know what you can take, and you're putting up boundaries. Which is great, you should be proud. Stuff like that is important."

Bucky smiles a little, feeling the praise wash over them. It feels good to be told they're doing well, especially by Sam, who's not going to bullshit them about how things are. It's a comfort to know that they're not fucking up and that there's actual progress that other people can see.

It's casual after that, them just fucking around and eventually ordering food because Steve and Natalia didn't seem to be getting back any time soon. Which was fine with them, really. Spending time with Sam was kind of rejuvenating. It made them feel like they can do the things that scare them, at least for a little while.

Which is probably why, when Sam leaves and Steve gets back, Bucky hasn't changed clothes and is still curled on the couch. 

Steve comes in looking tired as hell and ready to get out of the suit and tie he’s wearing. Bucky doesn't know exactly what kind of party he was going to, whether it was a whole media thing or if it was a smaller affair to raise money or something in between or altogether unrelated, but Steve looks so over the entire situation. It’s actually kind of amusing, and they wind up grinning a little.

But Steve is smiling too, which is a good sign, and he keeps smiling even as he studies Bucky for a few lingering moments. "Hey," he greets. "Did Sam tell you I was coming home late? I would have called but I was a little busy."

Bucky nods. "There's Indian in the fridge. We got extra." 

Steve nods, kicking off his shoes and heading into the bedroom to change. Bucky hears the shower turn on and they find themself utterly unsure of what to do, the ease from before fading into nervousness. 

Steve hadn’t said anything, which was maybe good? But maybe bad. Like hell they knew which one it actually was.

He could be avoiding making a big deal of it to show he didn't care, that if Bucky wanted to wear skirts, Steve didn't give a damn. At the same time, he could not noticed at all. Or, worse than that, didn’t know how to express his displeasure.

Bucky sits there, going over the likelihood of each option and feeling the nerves steadily build up inside their chest. They wait until they hear the water turn off to move, getting to their feet and heading quietly toward the bedroom.

Steve is there, a towel around his waist and still dripping a little. He smiles at Bucky, then shifts to a small frown. "Are you okay?"

"Are you?" It's the first thing that comes out of their mouth and it's not what they meant to say. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Tired but fine. What about you?" Steve moves closer, one hand carefully reaching out to brush fingers against Bucky's wrist. "Do you need anything?"

"I--" They want to say that they need him to say this is okay, that Bucky’s allowed to do this, be this. Instead, they choke out a little noise and move closer.

Steve's concern radiates off of him and he's moving closer still, wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist. "Hey," he says, his voice soft. "It's okay, Buck. Tell me what's going on."

Bucky swallows hard and presses into Steve, wrapping their arms around him and closing their eyes. 

"I...is this okay?" Their voice is quiet, a strain of fear running through it. "Can I do this?"

Steve moves one hand into Bucky's hair, stroking slowly. "Yeah," he tells him. "Of course, whatever you need. You can do it, or I can help. Whatever it is."

Bucky stays quiet, unsure if this is an actual okay or if Steve was just being nice. They honestly couldn't tell and needed a proper confirmation because fuck, what if Steve was just putting up with them? What if he was just doing the nice thing and was really kind of disgusted? 

They force themself to take in a breath, trying to will their mind to calm down.

"Bucky," Steve says, voice firm. "Are you still with me?"

"Yeah," they reply, gulping down air more than the slow breathing they were trying for. "Steve, I..."

"It's okay," Steve says. "Everything is okay. Everything."

"Even--" Bucky starts.

"Everything," Steve says. "Everything is okay."

~

They stay up talking late into the night, Bucky telling Steve about everything, from when they and Natalia started talking during the dancing, to the clothing experiments and everything in between. They talk about the things that their head did (and still does), the bear trap that their brain would become on certain days about the whole thing and about how they were so nervous they were about talking to Steve about the subject.

Steve makes coffee and listens, ushering them both to the couch and letting Bucky get as much as they wanted to on the table before adding more than a nod and a few reassuring words.

Bucky watches him with careful eyes, even though they know everything is fine now, know that Steve won't toss them out or reject them in any other way. They're still waiting for something to happen.

But Steve kisses them instead, holding them near and promising he doesn't care, that as long as Bucky is Bucky, then he'll take them however they want.

Bucky laughs, relaxing into Steve and curling up against him. They feel relief coursing through their entire body and for a moment, they are sure that sleep is going to hit them hard. But it doesn't, not right then anyway. 

Instead, Bucky lazily talks about the clothes they have squirreled away, about how all of this has made them feel more at home in their body, about how it's almost like belonging.

Steve smiles, wrapping one arm around them. "Good," he says. "That's good. I'm happy for you, Buck."

Bucky sighs, nodding. "Yeah, everyone said you would be. I just....I was scared. It seems so fucking stupid now."

"It wasn't," Steve assures them. "You're allowed to be scared. It seems like it’d be pretty scary. The thing is, though, you’re safe here. You’re safe with me. I’m not tossing you out and I’m not going to tell you that you can’t do something that will make you happy. We’re safe here. You’re safe.”  
They smile. "Yeah, it's safe."

~

The four of them have dinner the next evening, mostly to make up for the failed attempt the previous night. Bucky is in the long black skirt they're partial to and a long sleeved button down that feels good against their skin. It's the first time they're dressed the way they want to be in front of all three of the people they’re closest to.

The pleased feeling that courses through them, the smile they wear, it all feels right. Like this is normal and average and everything is okay.

Steve makes dinner and the four of them crowd into the kitchen and dining area. They laugh, Natalia and Sam drink, and Bucky settles into a corner to watch it all.

And everything continues to feel normal, comfortable, as it should be.

It's a strange feeling, one that leaves them almost confused by the way things play out, but it feels amazing too. It feels peaceful and calm, even when things get a little chaotic. 

It's not perfect, they know that. They know that there will be days when their head spikes up into anxiety and fear and disassociation and all sorts of things that are sharp and nasty. Yet they also know that when they come out of it, they'll have people who accept them, who actually care, to help them get through it.

They feel like they’re home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to write more in the universe because I love it so much and if you're interested, let me know and I will absolutely update my AO3 with those fics.
> 
> Find me elsewhere:  
> [My DW](http://rootsofthestories.dreamwidth.org) (which I use regularly)  
> [My Tumblr](http://analtarofstars.tumblr.com/) (which I am very rarely on)  
> [My Twitter](http://twitter.com/harvestgraces) (which I am on at random)


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